


Hard To Breathe

by distantstarlight, FoolishAngel1987



Series: Pushing and Pulling [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, Angst, Assault, Beating, Betrayal, Coma, Committed Relationship, Devotion, Feels, Filming, Forgiveness, Frustration, Gay Sex, Graphic Description, Gratuitous Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, Life Debt, Love, M/M, Making Love, Mocking, Mycroft Being Mycroft, One True Pairing, POV Alternating, References to Illness, Restraints, Revenge, Romance, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Torture, True Love, Violence, Worried John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distantstarlight/pseuds/distantstarlight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoolishAngel1987/pseuds/FoolishAngel1987
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has been taken right from 221 B. Sherlock needs to find his blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here begins the last segment of this rather intense story. FoolishAngel1987 - this was fantastic.

John's shoulder ached. His head hurt. For some reason his ankle hurt and one of his ears felt strange. John blinked his eyes open, waking slowly. He was mostly naked, wearing only his pants. Suddenly his entire body jerked upward and John groaned as his shoulders were strained with the weight of his body. John realized he was cuffed and being hung up by his wrists. He was spun around and then John was looking into a pair of warm brown eyes. They were the only warm thing in the face that was leering down at him.

He was in a large empty warehouse and John saw that he was faced with a rather powerful man. The man was tall, heavily muscled but not in a protein-shake-and-gym-membership way. No. This man was strong from doing a lot of difficult things repeatedly. Like hanging people up by their wrists like they were rag dolls and not human beings. John's eyes flickered over his captor. Everything about him screamed military from the crisp cut of his blond hair which matched John's to the broken tan lines from being in uniform despite the weather but mostly from the way he seemed criss-crossed with scars of varying ages, some from bullets, others from knives, all from war. The man smiled coldly. “Figured it out yet pet?”

“Moran.” croaked John. His throat was dry. He wondered how long he'd been unconscious. Sorrow shot through John. He knew he was going to die and John was filled with regret that he was going to pass before he apologized to Sherlock. John had been unfair to him. He hadn't needed to lash out at Sherlock like that just when the man was finally opening up. Sherlock was right. Each time he attempted to give John the information he needed John reacted in the worst possible way. Now he was going to die and Sherlock would mourn forever thinking that John had been angry with him.

“That's right pet. You are a smart one. Jim said you were but I didn't see it.” Jim? John realized Moran meant James Moriarty. John couldn't lash out. His feet were cuffed together and chained to the floor just like his wrists were cuffed and chained to the ceiling. Both sets of cuffs were wide leather and John wondered for a second why his captor would bother with gentle cuffs. Moran saw John glance at his bindings. “Noticed that too did you. What a good pet you are. I'd almost keep you. No, the cuffs aren't to reduce the pain. I find steel cuffs cut too deeply too fast and my toys end up bleeding out before the game is done. These work better. You should last pretty much all the way to the end.”

“The end?” asked John, trying to drag every moment out. This was what Sherlock had tried to avoid, this was part of what Sherlock had suffered to prevent from happening. John cursed his own lack of understanding. Sherlock had tried so hard and he had been right. John hadn't tried hard at all to fix things with his demon. Moran barked out a laugh.

“Jim's game. The end gambit. Your little fuck-head detective murdered Jim before he was done. Jim had your genius tied up in knots he shouldn't have be able to get out of. You get to pay me the blood debt Holmes owes me.” John felt a crack of pain bloom across his back. Moran had struck him with something wide and hard. A metal pipe. The man stood back and spun John back and forth to examine the results. “We're not going to go fast pet. Oh no. I'm taking my time. Enjoy that one. There's more on the way.”

Sherlock was at 221 B and he was screaming at a man in a suit. The poor man stood there as the detective heaped abuse on him. A shaking hand was extended and Sherlock snatched away a USB drive the unfortunate courier had brought him. He hadn't been the first one to arrive, a steady stream of rather shaken people had already left 221 B after getting a face full of enraged Sherlock. The man fled just as Mycroft arrived. “Why do you hire such INCOMPETENTS Mycroft? I should have had this an hour ago!” Sherlock inserted the drive into his laptop and began methodically reviewing the files inside.

“Calm yourself brother. Focus.” Mycroft was icy as always. Sherlock snarled but otherwise ignored his brother. Mycroft took out his mobile and soon both men were busy examining Baker Street and surrounding area via the wealth of CCTV footage Mycroft's team had produced. John had most certainly been taken but how?

When Sherlock and Mycroft had first arrived back in Baker Street they had instantly separated and swept the streets and alley, noting every single speck of dust in a way only the Holmes brothers were capable of. Sherlock would never admit it but Mycroft was considerably better than he was when it came to pure observation. He thought faster, in more complex ways and it was one of the many reasons Sherlock loathed him. The Work satisfied Sherlock's intellectual needs whereas Mycroft had needed an entire country to keep him amused. Sherlock was also angry with himself because he had made John vulnerable by leaving him alone. Sherlock had pounded his fist into his thigh and sworn sulfurously before resuming his search. They switched technology and re-reviewed everything. Nothing.

John was beginning to burn with pain even in places he hadn't been hit. Moran was methodical and very practiced. He knew exactly where to strike John to cause the most pain without damaging him too much. Moran knew just how long to wait before the worst of the pain faded and he knew exactly where to strike next to make the preceding pain sharper as it was joined by a kindred ache. Moran was a very specialized sort of genius, clearly, he had after all attracted and kept Moriarty's interest for over a decade.

Moran's tenor voice whispered harshly in John's ear as the criminal pressed himself obscenely to John's naked back. “Sherlock Holmes killed my Jim. That wasn't very nice of him. Sherlock owes me my pound of flesh. I'm taking it from you. Admittedly the human heart doesn't weigh a whole pound, does it doctor? Still. Close enough. I'm taking Sherlock's heart metaphorically and then I'll take it for real.” Moran was deliberately prodding the long bruises on John's chest and back, almost caressing him like a lover. John breathed through the pain and thought of Sherlock. His demon would certainly be looking for him now. 

“Moriarty killed himself. Sherlock didn't do it. Your Jim put a gun in his mouth and killed himself right in front of Sherlock.” Moran went still. He pushed himself off John's back and John felt himself twisting away desperately from a rain of blows. It seemed like a very long time before the blows ceased.

“Sherlock is a liar John. He lies. Jim had plans, lots of them. He wouldn't just kill himself. No, Sherlock Holmes killed my Jim and you Watson, you are the first part of my payback.” The carefully timed blows resumed and John thought of Sherlock to help him get through each wave of pain.

“Mycroft! There look!” both men leaned in closer to the computer monitor. There were two different video streams displayed, both showing different angles of the alley. They couldn't see it well enough so both men simply went back to the alley and scanned over it carefully together. Everything seemed undisturbed but then Sherlock leaned in closely to the rusted lock on the rear exit of 221 C. The lock was untouched but now that Sherlock looked very closely he could see that the entire hinge had simply slid out of the old brick and had been very carefully pushed back in. The lock was useless!

Sherlock pulled the door open and picked the lock to 221 C. No one ever lived there. Sometimes Mrs Hudson would store things in it but it was moldy so it was normally very empty. There was a very awful shag throw carpet on the floor, a memento of the '70s which Mrs Hudson was very willing to go on about if Sherlock or John could bear to hear of her in disco clothes. 

The rug's worst quality apart from being dyed avocado green was that it needed to be hoovered all the time. The brother's could see that something had happened on it. The fibers were crushed with footprints and it looked like someone had lain down. Sherlock spotted a glint of something underneath the trim. Upon examination he saw the thin broken end of a hypodermic needle. He handed it carefully to Mycroft who bagged it. John had most likely been drugged for removal but Mycroft would send it for testing to determine what exactly John had been given.

“He was waiting here for John to be alone. I left John alone and because of it he was taken.” spit Sherlock. He hated himself, hated his impatience, hated the fact that his target had turned the tables on him and now had John. Sherlock had to find John, he had to. There must be more information somewhere but where! This was the most they'd found so far. How had Moran taken John away? Where did they go? Mycroft wisely remained silent.

John hung there, his body burning hotter with pain. He was a mass of bruises but Moran had carefully avoided making John bleed. The ex-colonel was not setting up a camera tripod and attaching a small camera to it. He adjusted it carefully, smirking at John as he worked. John saw a small green light flicker for a moment. He was being recorded.

Moran sauntered over slowly and examined John carefully. He smiled at the camera, picked up his steel pipe and began to beat John methodically once again. Moran laughed and dropped the pipe on the floor where it clanged noisily. Now Moran used his fists, driving one careful blow after another into John's defenseless body. John realized after a bit that he was crying out in pain. He couldn't stop the grunts from leaving his mouth. He was dazed with it now. The agony was endless and it burned John from head to toe. He clung to consciousness.

Moran was talking but not to John. John was trying to hear, trying to listen but the roar in his ears distorted everything. “Oh he's lovely Sherlock. Too bad he's going to die because seriously? Oh, I'd keep a tight little treat like that all to myself. I can see why you didn't like Jim playing with your toy. If John were my toy I'd....wait....he IS my toy. What do you think Sherlock? I mean, he's kind of softened up now but I bet I could still get a few moans out of him for you.

Moran came back to John and ran his hands over the doctor once again, prodding the bruises thoughtfully. The man kept talking to Sherlock. At every pause Moran struck John someplace carefully. “He's holding up pretty good for an old soldier. That shoulder looks nasty though. No worries though Holmes. All of John's pain will be over soon enough. I mean, not really soon, but soonish. He's not going to need next year's birthday present is basically what I'm telling you. Ta!” 

The green light flickered and the camera stopped recording. John tried to stay conscious but it was a struggle. His whole body was a rage of pain. He hadn't had a drink of water since the afternoon he'd been taken. He wasn't even sure if that had been earlier today or if more time had gone by. He just couldn't think. It hurt far too much. Moran came over and cupped John's face almost tenderly, “It's far from over John. Far from over.”

Lestrade was going through his paperwork as fast as he could. He needed to get out of here and meet up with Mycroft and Sherlock but before he could go he needed to finish the damnable paperwork! Only a couple more reports remained to be read and signed off on when his computer cheeped. An email. There was no name, no address but there was a large file attached. The automatic scan allowed Lestrade to click on it.

A video played. Lestrade's eyes widened and he was fumbling for his phone. A few clicks later and he was forwarding the video. He hit a number, “Myc. Sherlock near you? Jesus Christ Myc I've just sent something to you.” The call disconnected without a word and Lestrade stared at his monitor in horror, reports forgotten.

Sherlock clicked on the file the second it arrived from Lestrade. Mycroft's team were already trying to decipher the location it had originated from. He and Mycroft watched and Sherlock had to force himself to breath as he watched his John being deliberately beaten. Moran was a coward! He had John trussed up and helpless. John had no way of defending himself, no way of preventing this from happening and it was all Sherlock's fault! John's life was in his hands and Sherlock had nothing to go on. He could have screamed with frustration.

Sherlock listened to Moran's taunts. John was unfocused, not looking at the camera. His eyes tracked Moran as best he was able, the prey trying to hide from the hunter but the trap had already been sprung. Sherlock winced at the goodbye. Sherlock had missed John's last birthday because he had been dead. Now it was possible Sherlock would miss John's next birthday because John would be dead.

There had to be information somewhere. There had to be. Sherlock could not fail John.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moran has John. Sherlock needs to find his lover before it's too late.

Moran was a bastard. He was patient and very careful. The beating was slow, meticulous. John had somehow expected savagery and while even though the bare fisted blows hurt a lot Moran was deliberately drawing the beating out, making it last. Every so often Moran would film John being struck. He'd stop the camera and beat John some more before turning it back on to record the results. 

John was clinging to consciousness again. The pain had kept him awake for a long time but it never stopped and John was so very tired. Pain crashed through his jaw. Moran had avoided hitting John in the face up until now. He made up for it and soon John's jaws were aching on both sides and there was a ringing in his ears to go with the roar of blood rushing through him. His head snapped back as Moran carefully hit him in the eye and John grunted at the explosion of pain. John heard Moran walk away and stop the camera. His footsteps receded further until John couldn't hear anything anymore but the pained wheezes of his lungs. John hung there alone and hurt.

It had been hours and Sherlock had re-watched the video countless times. His eyes glittered darkly as he focused and if John had been there he would have seen the humanity flee his lover's face to reveal the demon the soldier loved so dearly. Sherlock ignored his lover completely. He focused on what he could see around John. Sherlock needed to find something, a clue that narrowed down their location. So far nothing had come up in the effort to trace the email.

John was being held in a warehouse. That was obvious from the echoes in the recording and the darkness around them. Sherlock tried to enhance the images every way he knew but there was so much nothing around them all Sherlock could see was shadows and John. John's pained grunts gutted Sherlock but he pushed aside his reactions. He couldn't afford to give into sentiment right now. He needed to focus, to find John, to save him.

“Sherlock. They've found something.” A young woman was being brought to the pair. She was barely an adult, clothed garishly in vibrant colors, her hair a riot explosion of color. Heavy makeup obscured her face and she clutched a well worn computer bag to her chest. She looked like any one of the crowds of kids who hung around the shops and drank far too much coffee.

“I'm Asha. Listen fast. I'm a hacker okay? Well I'm not exactly but never mind. Look, this bloke knows me alright? Caught me out doing never-you-mind. Now he basically owns my work. Look. I need out and my friends tell me you Holmes' can do that. This bloke, Seb, he's making me send these alright? I know the fella's face. That's John Watson right? So. Get me out of reach of Seb. Get this John fellow out from Seb.” Her laptop made a bleeping sound and her mouth dropped open. “Another one.”

Asha pulled out a severely altered laptop. All three of them leaned in when she pulled up the video. They were viewing John from a different angle. Moran had moved the camera. Sherlock was dispassionate as he watched John being worked over with a metal pipe. There was nothing he could do and he needed to watch for clues not weep or tear his hair out like he wanted to. Moran was enjoying himself and John hung limply, not even grunting anymore as he was struck. Suddenly the camera began to zoom in. Moran had a remote in his hand. John's face was now center screen and Sherlock heard Moran say, “Any last words John? While you can still speak?” 

John's face was badly bruised, his lip split and bleeding, his nose broken and both eyes nearly swollen shut. John still managed to raise his head to look at the camera for the first time. “Forgive you Sherlock. Everything. The fall. My demon. I love you.” The screen went blank and there was nothing more.

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock said a word. Asha clicked the video off and sat there nervously. Mycroft lifted his hand and Anthea materialized from the landing outside 221 B. She led Asha away while Sherlock looked over her laptop. He played the video once more, pausing it. There was something on the floor. A strip of something. It tickled the back of Sherlock's mind.

Sherlock stood up straight. “I know where they are. Warehouse 78. There's the loading strip guide built into the floor. There's only one like that in London.” Mycroft and Sherlock hastened out of the flat. Lestrade was just pulling up as they emerged from the building. Sherlock stuffed him right back into his car, for the first time ever not complaining about being in a police car. Mycroft sat up front and soon they were racing through the streets of London towards John. “Hold on John. Just a little longer.” prayed Sherlock silently.

The pipe slammed into John's side again and he felt something shift inside. It wasn't good but then nothing really was. John couldn't help but think of all the damage his body had endured. Moran was skillful indeed. The swelling was progressing smoothly and soon John would be strangled in his own flesh. John's abdomen was starting to feel a bit heavy and John knew he was most likely bleeding internally. It was hard to stay awake but he stubbornly tried. It was the only thing he could do.

Suddenly John was falling forward. His body crashed heavily into the cement floor, his head cracking hard against the unyielding surface. Moran had released him or at least had taken him down. What was next? John waited for more blows or possibly even kicks. Moran was walking away. In the far distance John heard a door click shut and then there was nothing.

The cold of the cement was soothing. John lay there and tried to keep breathing but it was so difficult. He was tired. John tried to listen for Moran's return. He couldn't move his limbs. John knew the repeated blows to his spine had paralyzed his nerves. If he survived this it would take time for movement to return. John was pretty sure he'd never find out how long his recovery would take. His eyes wanted to close but John wouldn't let them.

He heard footsteps. Moran was returning. The door didn't open. John heard the footsteps grow quick and then there was more than one set of feet running through the building. A gunshot! Someone had shot someone else. John tried to think about what was going on but he hurt so badly and the cement was so cool. His cheek was becoming numb and lovely. John wanted to close his eyes and let the numbness spread. He fought it but one at a time his lids slid closed and stayed that way.

The terror that electrified Sherlock when the gunshot rang out forced his feet into action. Moran had shot John! They had just pulled into the warehouse. Mycroft's people were already surrounding the building which was empty. Lestrade was behind Sherlock somewhere, shouting for the detective to wait, to slow down, to stop. Sherlock could not. He ran as fast as he could, as fast as he could move his legs, fast as he could manage. Sherlock needed to get to John.

The exterior door led to a small series of hallways that opened into the cavernous hold of the warehouse. There was a pool of light in the center and John was laying on the floor, motionless. Sherlock's body raced forward without a thought while his mind screamed with fear.

Sherlock fell to his knees beside his lover. John wasn't moving. It was hard to tell if he was breathing. John's body was hideously swollen everywhere. Sherlock tried to find a pulse but his fingers were shaking and his own heart was racing. He couldn't see the flutter at John's swollen throat, he couldn't find the pulse!

Sherlock felt his mind begin to splinter. Was this what happened to John when he watched Sherlock die? Did John have this same helpless hopeless crushing need to stop it somehow, to drag back the ravages of the time they had missed and prevent this from happening? Sherlock's voice was thick but he called out tenderly, “John?”

“John please.”

“John you have to be alive.”

“John! You have to wake up now.”

“John this isn't funny in the least. Wake up!”

“John?” Sherlock could not find the pulse. Where was it. Where was it??

“No. John. You can't. NO. Not you John. No. NO. John? John? John! JOHN? JOHN! JOHN! JOHN!!!” Sherlock was screaming now. His voice rang through the warehouse as the words bloodied his throat as his desperate anguish filled the air. People were running towards him. People with kits and a stretcher. Sherlock didn't really look because he wasn't screaming anymore.

John's eyes had opened and he was looking at Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's okay to cry. Cathartic even.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all the odds John has been rescued.

The nurse seemed rather young to Sherlock but she was competent. She changed John gently, washing him from head to toe, now very accustomed to being silently watched by the tall lean man with hard eyes. It had been two weeks and John was in a coma. His sweet blue eyes had remained open and fixed on Sherlock until he'd been placed on the stretcher. Then they'd closed and stayed closed. The nurse gathered up the soiled materials and other items and retreated silently.

Sherlock was reading the news on his mobile. The press had gotten wind of what had happened and a storm of anger and hatred was now directed right at the lean detective. John had required extensive surgery to stop the internal bleeding and the mass of bruises threatened his health in a myriad of ways. He had no broken bones at least but that was the best that could be said for his condition. Moran had been declared dead and the last of Moriarty's empire crumbled at the news. The world now knew Moran's connection to Moriarty and now everyone was blaming Sherlock for John's abduction and injuries. Sherlock scowled the first time he'd read the opinions.

Mycroft stomped on the journalists that were blatantly twisting the few facts to dramatize an already serious situation. It was too late. Public opinion could not be contained and anger towards Sherlock built and spread. He didn't care. Sherlock sat by John's bed day and night, waiting for his lover to wake up. Mycroft had them securely hidden in a private clinic, only the best doctors and nurses available were admitted into John's room. Sherlock sat there and watched John in between articles, checking, always checking for a change in his condition. The coma continued.

John looked almost alright now. The swelling had gone down after a couple of days and the bruises healed relatively quickly. His nose was of course broken but reset and was healing almost completely straight. When the bandages came off John probably wouldn't be able to see where the bridge had snapped. If he woke up. The specialists had been very careful to make no definite prognosis. Sherlock spent a lot of time reading up on comas but everything he had learned could do nothing to help John. What was the point of being a genius if he couldn't even help the man he loved wake up?

Sherlock leaned over his lover and kissed John's cheek, told him he loved him and that he always would. Sherlock did the same each and every day. Maybe John could hear him. Sherlock felt it was simply prudent to reassure his lover of Sherlock's continued presence and faithfulness. He'd promised John never to leave and Sherlock would not.

Sherlock was torn with regrets. He wished he'd been more patient that last day. He wished he'd never met Moriarty to begin with, that these awful months and years had never happened. Sherlock couldn't help but go over each and every transgression against John he had committed and the list was hopelessly long.

Sherlock picked up John's limp hand and kissed it before pressing it to his cheek. “John. My sweet lovely John. Please my darling. Won't you wake up? I miss you. Come back to me. I want to go home John. Wake up darling, please?”

Sherlock heard someone clear their throat behind him. Lestrade. “No change?” Sherlock shook his head. He kissed John's hand once more and lay it carefully down. He turned to Lestrade. “You look like fried crap Sherlock. I'm here to take you home.”

“I can't. I promised John I would stay.” How did they expect John to wake up when Sherlock wasn't there? They were fools. All of them.

“Listen. I'll stay with John. If he wakes up before you get back I'll tell him I forced you to go. He won't be mad at you. You stink Sherlock. I can smell you in the hallway. Go home, wash. Wash again. Wash one more time, burn your clothes, EAT, sleep properly for once and then come back. I'll wait. I promise. Myc is waiting for you.” Sherlock flushed a bit. He was a bit rank but surely not as bad as all that. Sherlock realized he hadn't showered or changed for two entire weeks. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea. Sleeping on a bed would be nice. Catnaps in these hospital chairs were possible but not very comfortable.

“You call me if he so much as twitches.” demanded Sherlock and Greg promised faithfully. Sherlock got up and walked briskly until he was outside the clinic. Mycroft's car was waiting for him as were a crowd of reporters. They were cordoned off but Sherlock heard their questions. “How many times has John Watson almost died Mr Holmes? Has he ever been in a coma before? What are your favorite bloody moments during your cases? Is Doctor Watson a masochist? Are you a sadist? When can we get pictures of the coma?”

Sherlock ignored all of them and got into the car. Mycroft wrinkled his nose but said nothing. The trip was long enough that Mycroft rolled down the windows pointedly but Sherlock ignored his brother. The car slid away the second Sherlock stepped out in front of 221 Baker Street.

The flat was empty. It felt cold and lonely there. Sherlock went to the shower after binning his clothes and washed his hair and body over and over again until the hot water ran out. He had a short beard which he shaved off as well and after he was clean Sherlock forced himself to eat a proper sandwich and an apple. John liked apples. Sherlock pushed open the door to his bedroom but was instantly assailed with thoughts of being intertwined with John, both their bodies warm and responsive together in that very bed. Sherlock decided to return to the clinic. He'd never rest here.

One quick text to Mycroft and Sherlock was on the street walking toward the clinic. A few minutes later the same car pulled up. It had been wiped down inside and smelled of deodorizers. Mycroft cautiously sniffed the air before opening the door and allowing Sherlock to get in. The ride proceeded in silence for a minute before Mycroft finally spoke. “You must be realistic brother. There has been no change in two weeks. You have to consider John's needs. The chances of him recovering unharmed at this point are extremely slender. You must think of this.”

Sherlock snarled savagely. “I will NOT consider this. John WILL recover. He just needs time!” Sherlock stared resolutely out the window and refused to look at Mycroft again and his brother did not speak.

When they got back to the clinic Lestrade was standing outside John's room. The door was shut and the DI looked upset and pale. He had his mobile in his hand but when he saw Sherlock and Mycroft he put it away. “Sherlock. John's had a reaction. It's an infection. His temperature just spiked. He's in there with a medical team.” Sherlock saw Mycroft restrain the shocked silver haired man as he shoved his way through the door.

A knot of people were swarming around John. A doctor came towards him. “Mr Watson's not doing well. We need to get his temperature down and begin combating the infection. It's not looking good. His resources are limited and it's entirely possible this fever could do great damage. We're doing everything we can to help him with this but I have to caution you, this is very serious.” Sherlock stormed out of the room and punched a hole through the wall in the hallway. Mycroft stood beside Greg and let Sherlock try to breath.

Hours trickled by with no change. The team of medics came and went over and over again. A day went by and nothing. John was tended around the clock while Sherlock hovered helpless in the background, unable to even hold his John's hand as the fever raged through the man. Each hour that passed made John's situation less tenable and Sherlock was losing hope. One at a time Sherlock shut his feelings down so he could cope. The days piled up one after another until a week had gone by and John's body still fought. “Brother.”

Mycroft was there. Sherlock looked at John before stepping into the hallway. Mycroft handed Sherlock a sheet of paper. It was a copy of John's medical consent. Sherlock was listed as his primary contact. “It's up to you to decide to keep him going or to let him go. You should decide soon. The pain medication won't work forever.” Sherlock nearly fell to the floor. He staggered back and only the wall behind him kept him from falling. End John? How could he do that? “Sherlock John is suffering. He's well past the window for successful recovery. The fever is destroying him. You have to decide.”

“Why would he do this to me? Make me make this choice? I can't....I just can't....I need to think brother. I need to think.” Sherlock paced back and forth. He couldn't focus on it. His mind skittered away from even the thought of letting John go. “Give me a day. I need at least twenty-four hours to decide.” Mycroft nodded, his face uncharacteristically sympathetic. He reached out and lay his hand on Sherlock's shoulder for a brief second then left.

The medical team was leaving for now so Sherlock went to John's bed and picked his hand up again. Sherlock kissed it ardently and pressed it to his cheek once more. “John. My beautiful, marvelous, amazing and always surprising John. Please wake up my love. I need you with me. I miss you so much. I'm waiting for you John. I'm waiting. I'm here, just like I promised. All you need to do is wake up. Wake up John. Please. I'm begging you. I love you my darling John, my angel, my guiding light.”

Sherlock waited, watching John's face intently. There was no change and the only sound in the room were the machines that monitored his lover. Sherlock leaned in and kissed John's cheek tenderly then began to beg again. He waited once more and watched John for a response. Nothing. Sherlock couldn't give up. He kept it up for hours, begging and pleading for John to wake up until his voice was rough. John didn't blink or twitch even once and the fever was still burning. John's nerves would be screaming with pain now, even if he couldn't move he would be feeling it. Sherlock broke down and wept at last. He nodded into the sheets and cried a little more. Sherlock would let John go. There really wasn't another choice.

He laced their fingers together tightly and refused to let go. Sherlock pressed kiss after kiss to John's hand and fell asleep clutching it to his face, the trails of his tears staining his cheeks.

Sherlock woke just after dawn. John was exactly the same as he had been the night before. Sherlock stood slowly, squeezing John's fingers tight enough to make them nearly bloodless. His voice was unbending and almost cold as he told John he loved him. Letting John's hand go Sherlock forced himself to walk away.

Mycroft was waiting. Sherlock was grim. “Get the paperwork ready.” Mycroft stood in front of his brother, sympathy once again showing as he felt for the loss his baby brother was about to endure.

“I can have a barrister available later today.” Sherlock nodded and sat in a hall chair, his head in his hands. The medical team came and went as did the nurses but none of them reported the slightest change. Sherlock stayed there unmoving until he got a text several hours later. All Sherlock had to do was go and sign. The car was waiting on the street.

Sherlock stood, wobbly with shock and the beginnings of grief. This was really happening. Mycroft was there and he took Sherlock's arm. Sherlock was grateful. He didn't think he could make it outside unassisted. He managed only three tottering steps when a nurse called out, “Mr Holmes!” No. No. It was too soon. John! Sherlock wasn't ready. He hadn't said goodbye yet! No! The brothers turned to look down at the short nurse who tended John the most.

“Mr Holmes. It's Mr Watson. Sirs, he's awake!” Only Mycroft's arm in his kept Sherlock standing. Staggering drunkenly Sherlock made it back to John's room. The door was shut as the team worked inside. The nurse looked apologetic but Sherlock didn't care. John was awake! He wouldn't have to sign those awful papers! John was awake!

The door eventually opened and Sherlock nearly flew in. John was propped up in his bed looking weak, his eyes locked on Sherlock. "You're an idiot for allowing me to decide whether you live or die...I was ready to let you go." he croaked brokenly, almost unable to speak.

John's face broke out in a loving smile. His voice was weak but sure. "That's why I picked you. I knew you'd be logical if it ever came to that." John! Pure beautiful trusting John! What faith he had in Sherlock.

Sherlock sank into a crouch and just stared at John. His eyes filled with tears. He had almost let John die. Sherlock had been prepared to let his beloved John go. John's expression grew concerned, “Not good?”

Sherlock stood and tottered closer. “A bit not good, yeah.” He sat in the chair by the bed and put his head on the mattress. He couldn't look at John, he didn't deserve to so Sherlock kept his face hidden in the sheets. John was awake and Sherlock's mind was going in a thousand directions at once. Sherlock felt John's warm fingers begin to card through his curls. He reached out his arm blindly and hugged John's hips tight. John!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left to go my friends. I hope you enjoy it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have finally made it home together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is everything you were waiting for.

John lay in Sherlock's bed while the detective made him tea and a light lunch. John was mostly healed now, the new surgical scars still dark pink but everything was sealed over and bandages were no longer required. John had been home for three days now. It had been two weeks since he had woken from his coma.

Sherlock fussed over John constantly. He made John stay in bed, refusing to let him do a single thing except the exercises assigned to strengthen John once again. John was happy to be back. He was happy to be alive. John was happy about nearly everything except Sherlock.

Sherlock was avoiding him. Yes he was present and yes he was assisting John but John knew Sherlock well enough to tell the difference between Sherlock doing something and Sherlock putting something off. Sherlock was putting something off, something to do with John. “Honey?” he called out. Sherlock appeared, tea towel in hand.

“John? Are you alright? What can I get you?” Sherlock looked worried.

“I want out of bed and I want to eat in the kitchen!” complained John. Sherlock frowned for a moment then clearly lost an argument with himself. Carefully Sherlock assisted John in leaving the bed. John wasn't that hurt but Sherlock was terrified for John's health, telling him he needed to heal completely before Sherlock would let him attempt anything.

Sherlock escorted John to the kitchen table. As soon as John was seated Sherlock left his side and resumed cooking a small meal. When it was done Sherlock smiled at John and served him first. John began to eat hungrily. Sherlock served himself next and sat near John. When John reached out for Sherlock's hand the man leaned away to pick up a fork he accidentally dropped. Smoothly Sherlock got up, washed his fork and got a new one to eat with. Now with the fork in the hand closest to John Sherlock resumed eating.

The meal didn't take long and Sherlock helped John to the sofa to lay back and watch telly while Sherlock did the dishes. John flipped through the channels, finally settling on Top Gear as Sherlock set a fresh cup of tea beside the doctor. John tilted his head back for a kiss but Sherlock was already striding back to the kitchen. John drank his tea instead.

Finally it seemed that the dishes were done so John swiveled his head around with an anticipatory smile. Maybe since he was out front Sherlock could be sweet-talked into a little cuddling. The man was pulling on his long coat and John frowned. Sherlock looked guilty, “We're out of milk, bread and chocolate sauce. I won't be long I promise.” Well they did need groceries and John couldn't do it. He gave Sherlock a loving smile and watched him leave.

John dozed off on the sofa while he waited and woke up in Sherlock's bed again. He was in his pajamas and tucked tightly under the covers. The pillows were fluffed up high and John was completely alone. “Sherlock?” he called out. John didn't like being alone. Sherlock raced in, safety goggles on his face.

“John? John what's wrong. What happened!” John looked up at Sherlock, relieved. 

“I don't like being alone Sherlock. Why don't you come lay down with me until I fall asleep?” John patted the bed but Sherlock looked uncomfortable.

“John, I've got an experiment going. I need to watch it. I'm sorry but...” John cut him off.

“Sherlock what is going on here? You've been avoiding me since I got home! I got more physical attention from you when I was hooked up to the monitors at the hospital!” John was upset and now so was Sherlock.

“Are you saying I'm ignoring you? John I've been doing absolutely everything I can for you! I'm sorry I started an experiment, but I haven't done anything for weeks and....” John felt bad and cut Sherlock off again.

“No it's okay Sherlock. You're right. Go ahead. I'm fine, just a bit bored.” Sherlock looked anxious and shifted back and forth from foot to foot before disappearing. Five minutes later he was back with the television and remote, removing everything from his dresser to set it up for John. Proudly Sherlock gave John the remote and left the doctor happily flipping channels while Sherlock went back to work.

John got tired easily and fell asleep. He woke a while later and found himself once again tucked in tightly, remote set to the side as he lay alone in their bed. Sherlock was no where in sight. John didn't know where Sherlock was sleeping but it wasn't with him. He knew the younger man was very concerned that John recover from his extensive wounds but he could sleep with the doctor. John stared at the ceiling and wondered what to do until he drifted off again.

Another week went by. Sherlock continued to look after John carefully but still avoided anything even remotely intimate. John was getting frustrated. He was nearly completely healed. John was positive he could physically withstand the demands required for accepting a kiss! Sherlock didn't come near him even once. John was very annoyed and finally he got mad. “Sherlock! You have been seriously avoiding me. I don't know what to say or do to get you to tell me what's wrong!”

Sherlock looked nervous but still said, “There's nothing wrong John.” John lost his temper. Sherlock was obviously not being truthful!

“Sherlock something is really wrong and you won't tell me what it is! I'm beginning to think you need to really have a bit of a think about things. Now either you tell me what's going on or I'm going to go take that health spa deal Mycroft offered and go sit in a whirlpool somewhere while you sort things out!” John was exasperated but Sherlock was outraged.

“I'm trying John! I'm really trying. I don't know what more I can do! I've done everything I can think of, everything I'm able to do. I don't know what else to try!” Sherlock was clearly angry now. “John. I don't want to say anything right now. I need to clear my head.”

Sherlock walked out and left a very irate John behind. If Sherlock needed time to clear his head John would give it to him. John was healthy enough to find his mobile and send a message to Mycroft, telling Sherlock's brother he needed to get away and that the spa sounded fine. John sat there and fumed before going to shower. He'd pack afterward. It probably wouldn't take Mycroft long to organize everything.

Sherlock strode down the street feeling desperate and anxious. He knew what John wanted and Sherlock couldn't do it. He couldn't kiss John again, couldn't touch John again. Well, except that he had to. John still couldn't get up and down the stairs very well and he needed his medication at regular times so Sherlock threw his hands in the air with frustration. What was he to do!

John thought something was wrong but there wasn't! At least, nothing was wrong the way John might think it was. Sherlock fretted some more. He was trying to figure a way out of this problem but he just couldn't manage. He wasn't good with feelings and this entire mess was rife with the blasted things. He had only walked for ten minutes when a sleek black car pulled up beside him. Sherlock groaned but got in.

“You are a very great fool brother.” said Mycroft calmly, not even looking at the dark haired man sulking beside him. “John has asked to be sent away to finish recuperating. While I am very happy to oblige I must ask you why John feels the need to leave his home after he has suffered so very much and has asked to go alone?”

Now Mycroft ran his eyes over Sherlock and sighed softly. “You feel undeserving of the good doctor's affections. You are avoiding him not because anything is wrong but because you erroneously believe you have wronged him by the decision you made, the one to end his life. John has not said a single word in protest of this fact though he has had many opportunities but you are worried that he is too polite, too much a gentleman to protest that his life is still in the hands of someone who would let him die.”

Sherlock had never hated his brother so much. Mycroft had it exactly right. Sherlock wasn't avoiding John! He worshiped John. John was divinity made flesh. He was good and kind, sweet and loving. He was strong and resourceful, brave and generous. Sherlock had been willing to let John slip away, had been already on his way to sign papers to let him die! Sherlock didn't deserve to lay a single finger on John Watson. He didn't deserve to kiss those sweet lips or hold that warm wonderful body to his. Sherlock deserved no such favors. He had to protect John from being near Sherlock.

Mycroft sighed again. “As mentioned, you are a very great fool Sherlock. Go to John. Confess yourself and let him decide. It's his choice ultimately. He will not appreciate you deciding this for him. Remember what happened the last time you chose for both of you.”

Sherlock clenched his fists. He had made a botch of things AGAIN! Mycroft had the car turn around to head back to Baker Street. Spitefully Mycroft dropped him off at the far end of the street but Sherlock just ran all the way home. Racing up the stairs he rushed to his room. John wasn't there. Sherlock ran up the last flight of stairs. John was in his room and he was packing a bag.

Sherlock braced his arms and legs on the frame of the door as if John were trying to escape. The doctor looked surprised and opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock just blurted out, “Do you blame me for almost dying? From Moran first and then me at the clinic?”

John looked entirely surprised. “No. Sherlock no! Of course I don't blame you for nearly dying. Not one bit! How could you think that?”

Sherlock slid to his knees, weak with relief. “John, I was sure you did. I was positive you did! How could you not? It was my fault Moran was even looking for you. He hurt you because of me. I was going to sign off on you John! Mycroft had the papers ready to go! You would have been dead before the day was out!” Sherlock was nearly hysterical with self induced loathing.

John just laughed and looked at Sherlock wryly. “You weren't avoiding me?” The man looked trepiditious! Was John nervous about something as well? Now Sherlock felt even more the fool knowing he had probably hurt John's feelings again for nothing.

Sherlock flushed. “I was but it wasn't because I didn't want to be near you. I did. I do. I always do. I don't deserve you John Watson. I don't deserve to be close to a man as noble and brave as you, as good and decent as you. I'm not a good person, not a bit good, not anywhere. Most people would go so far to say that I'm not even human.”

John gave Sherlock was warm and very loved filled smile. He walked over to Sherlock and looked down at the detective where he still knelt. “The very first day we met I thought I'd finally seen something greater than mankind, a superior being not of this earth. I thought you were a demon, a beautiful clever not-for-John-Watson-ever demon. You are so beautiful, inside and out. You are brilliant, like a super-nova. Sherlock you are the most incredible man in the world and if you seriously did not want to touch me again for as long as we live I'd accept it because I want to be with you any way I can. I hope you do though because frankly sex with you is mind-blowing.”

Sherlock blushed scarlet at the blatant appreciation in John's face. The man's expression was positively indecent! John was a gentleman and Sherlock sometimes forgot that he was also rather earthy. “I don't know what to do John.”

“Oh I think you do know what to do. I think the problem is that you don't know what you think you're allowed to do. Am I right? You think I'd deny you out of anger?” Sherlock nodded. How could John ever trust Sherlock enough to allow any sort of intimacy. Sherlock had failed John so many times.

“I can't be trusted. You know I can't. Every single time you've needed me I've run. I'm a horrible person.” Sherlock loathed himself more than ever and cursed his completely debilitating inability to be even slightly normal! For heaven's sake Anderson was juggling two romances at the same time! Sherlock couldn't even bring himself to kiss the man he loved who was asking him to do it!

John just shook his head wryly. “I trust you Sherlock. I knew you'd find me. I knew it. True, I didn't know if I'd survive that long but I knew you'd find me no matter what. I believe in you Sherlock, even when you don't believe in yourself.”

Sherlock looked up at John who was now standing almost directly in front of Sherlock. His beautiful, loving, forgiving and completely remarkable John! Sherlock bit his lip. John wanted this as much as Sherlock did. There was nothing to be afraid of. Sherlock never intended to hurt John again but to do that he had to trust that John knew what he was doing when he trusted Sherlock. He reached out with both arms. John stepped forward and Sherlock pressed his head against John's stomach, his arms cinched tight around John's waist. 

John ran his fingers over Sherlock's shoulders and neck, carding them through Sherlock's curls and hugging him back as well as he could. Finally John tugged Sherlock's arm so he stood up and embraced John properly. They stood there for a very long time simply holding one another. John turned up his face with a small smile and Sherlock grinned back at him. It was hard to kiss and laugh but they tried anyway, both of them filled with joy.

It didn't take long for the warmth between them to smolder and flame up into something hotter and more consuming. John wanted Sherlock desperately, had missed connecting with him. Sherlock seemed nervous but John just kissed him until he felt Sherlock begin to lose himself in passion. Moving one careful step at a time John nudged Sherlock towards his bed. When they were beside it John deliberately undid Sherlock's belt. “I want to make love.” said John bluntly.

Sherlock heard John's request and could not say no. This was an outright and very clear demand from John, his beautiful perfect John whom, as Mycroft had mentioned, had suffered so very much. Whatever John wanted, even if Sherlock didn't think he deserved to do it, John got. Sherlock nodded and helped both of them undress.

It was ridiculously sexy to fumble and stagger back and forth together as their lust suddenly caught up with their situation. Sherlock suddenly could not move his fingers correctly. He was nearly panting for John. It had been far too long since they had touched and he needed his doctor now! John obviously felt the same way.

They had to be careful. John still wasn't completely healed but Sherlock just used that as an excuse to lay John back and do everything himself. Sherlock then allowed himself to adore John from head to toe, rapturously tasting every sacred inch of his lover. Sherlock promised himself to never forget what a privilege it was to be with John, that no other man on earth shared that honor and no other person ever would. Sherlock vowed to spend the rest of his days making himself a better person so that eventually he would be worthy of the man he would cleave to forever.

Sherlock wanted to give himself to John all over again. He recalled what John had once done and with a small blush he said to John, “I want to ride you.”

“Oh god yes.” groaned John, his face as flushed and hungry looking as Sherlock's. Everything went both slow and fast then. Together they prepared Sherlock to receive John, their kisses languorous and their caresses deliberate and careful. The lust that had initially driven them slowly muted to deep roiling passion as their bodies both quickened and stilled. When Sherlock was ready he lowered himself slowly, his knees at John's waist as he sank. Both men sighed and moaned softly.

It was sweet and loving. John and Sherlock both felt the wounds on their souls begin to heal, the proximity of their lover all the balm they needed. Sherlock felt gloriously free and unafraid as everything in his mind shut down and left behind only the delicious waves of ecstasy that were building into a crashing storm. Mindful of John's newest scars Sherlock leaned down and kissed John's mouth tenderly. “Sweet John, I love you.”

John kissed Sherlock back, his small hot tongue demanding access which Sherlock instantly granted. Sherlock's hips began to move with less grace. He was rising fast and Sherlock wasn't sure how much more he could take. It was all too beautiful. “I love you Sherlock, my Sherlock. You were never an angel, I would never want you to be. You're a demon, always more than human, better than human. There's no one like you Sherlock and I'm the luckiest man alive.”

Sherlock moaned into John's mouth, unable to respond. John suddenly began to breath hard, his hands at Sherlock's hips urging him to go faster. Sherlock wasn't sure this was a good idea because he was so incredibly close but John asked so Sherlock moved faster. John yanked Sherlock's mouth back to his. Sherlock breathed in John's frantic exhalations, both men beginning to tense and grow exponentially louder.

John suddenly cried out and Sherlock felt that warm rush inside him. His head fell back and suddenly he was coming, chanting John's name as they shook and trembled as one. Sherlock couldn't stay upright. He tried not to but he fell forward bonelessly, too satisfied to shift an inch. John seemed fine with it and kissed Sherlock's ear gently. 

They lay there with their chests pressed together, their hearts beating thunderously against the other. Time, that most curious of byproduct of reality, seemed to halt as the two men communed silently. John finally managed to find his voice again and it was rich with conviction. “We're going to be alright.”

Sherlock nuzzled against John's hair, loving the way their sweat was mixed together, never realizing how beautiful it was to be covered in traces of another living being. “How do you know?” How could John know. Nothing like that was knowable. Their entire lives were firm proof of that.

John moved to the side just a bit, just enough for him to tap on Sherlock's narrow chest with his small but wonderfully capable hands. “Because our hearts are still beating at the end of all this.”

So they were. Both hearts beat because of the other despite their tendency to be off tempo on occasion. For all their long crazy improbable lives each day had shaped each man into the perfect partner, a life long destiny of togetherness. Sherlock lay there and felt John's heart throbbing next to his and found that together the beats were making a song, a dance, an epic ballad that would compel generations of lovers to try harder, believe more, and love openly. Sherlock would love his John forever and knew that for eternity John would love him back. No matter the problems they would face, the foes that would throw themselves in their path, the mistakes they would undoubtedly make that love, that pure unbroken unfailing love would always be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a very great pleasure write this series. I thank each and every person who took the time to read it all. I know you suffered greatly but I hope you felt it worthwhile.
> 
> For those of you who took the time to comment, I thank you again. All of it it fuel for the machine.


End file.
